


Coffee Sliding Smoothly Down Your Throat (And Warming You From the Inside Out)

by TintedPink



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Angel Steve Rogers, Character Study, Emphasis on SteveTony Pairing, F/M, Gen, Get Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Tony, Pepper Potts knows everything, Pining Steve, Post-Avengers (2012), Steve Draws Tony because he's obsessed, Steve Rogers-centric, Steve and Tony aren't great at communicating, adorable Dummy, pansexual Steve Rogers, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 14:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10310606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TintedPink/pseuds/TintedPink
Summary: Stephan… was adjusting. He’d thought that being a mortal wouldn’t be particularly difficult. He’d been watching mortals go about their lives for centuries, or millennium, it was hard to tell sometimes. He’d seen human civilizations rise and fall and rise again. He’d thought he’d be able to manage living among humans when he was cast out of Heaven.He was wrong.They gave him the dying body of a frail youth in Brooklyn. He had been alive hundreds (maybe thousands) of years, and they gave him the body of a six-year-old.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I resisted the urge to call this "A Study in Steve" but only just. This is just me playing with Steve's character, so I apologize if it's a little off, this is my first time writing Steve's POV exclusively, so I was mostly just exploring my Steve-space. I'm weak for Guardian Angel AU's for some reason, so this is what that became. Originally, I was going to go through the entire TWS arc, but it ended up here instead. Maybe I'll do a sequel with that idea, but for now, this is all.  
> Forewarning! Steve is probably going to think some easily misinterpreted things about the Nazi's. I don't condone Nazism, and neither does this version of Steve, please read that section carefully before making any snap judgements. Seriously, Nazi's are evil, please don't flame me.  
> Further notes on this universe will be at the bottom. Let me know if you have any questions, and I hope you enjoy this fic. Thanks ahead if you comment or kudos, I really appreciate it. ^_^  
> Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own, these characters, however, are not.  
> 

Stephan… was adjusting. He’d thought that being a mortal wouldn’t be particularly difficult. He’d been watching mortals go about their lives for centuries, or millennium, it was hard to tell sometimes. He’d seen human civilizations rise and fall and rise again. He’d thought he’d be able to manage living among humans when he was cast out of Heaven.

He was wrong.

They gave him the dying body of a frail youth in Brooklyn. Stephan had been alive hundreds (maybe thousands) of years, and they gave him the body of a six-year-old. Said six-year-old, Steve Rogers, had been dying of several incurable diseases. When Stephan woke up in his body, like a miracle, the body of Steve Rogers was healed, and Stephan became Steve. The other angels had taken to calling him Stephan. Many of them had taken up westernized names when they moved to the west. He’d been Stephan for a long time now, making the change to Steve was not difficult.

What was difficult was coping with his inability to create complex sentences, or take care of himself. He’d retained most of himself when he fell, but even his superior intellect could only do so much to influence the unformed synapses of a child’s brain. He couldn’t force the neurons to fire any faster, not when they had stripped him of his wings and halo. He couldn’t do anything to further his own development, and Steve abhorred it.

It was awful to know that you were being insolent, and do it anyway because your body could not help it. For the majority of his “childhood” Steve felt like a prisoner in a body that did not belong to him, because it didn’t.

As Steve grew older he kept his guardian streak, though he was able to do much more now than he was able to when he was only a guardian. Guardian angels are allowed to guide humans away from the idea of hurting one another, but there is nothing that they can do to physically stop the humans from doing wrong. Well, there was nothing they could do within the confounds of guardian law. Stephan, on more than one occasion, violated those laws, and that was what led to him falling. Now, in his feeble, but solid body, he did not have to follow the rules that he once did, and he helped people as well as he could.

He found himself on the wrong end of a losing fight more than once. His body refused to retain muscle or energy, so he was constantly tired, and always the weakest person to show up to the fight, but he was determined. Stephan had spent far too long bot being able to save people, to help them, he wouldn’t continue that protocol as Steve. Steve could fight whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and it wasn’t about winning. It was about principle. A big guy shouldn’t pick on a little guy. Maybe Steve was a little guy too, now, but if Steve didn’t try and stop them, who would?

No one. That was who. There were too few people who stood up and fought back, and Steve never understood this about humans. Some did, but even the ones that did didn’t do it all the time. Steve tried to lead by example, setting anything and everything that he could to right. He’d watched enough humans do wrong by each other to last him another few centuries (or millennium) and he wasn’t going to watch it anymore while he had something to say about it.

His only friend, James Buchanan Barnes, was a good friend who did little to deter Stephan from carrying out his mission in Steve’s body. James and Steve had been friends long before Stephan took over Steve’s body, and James had just stuck. They stayed friends, and while James did comment on the change in Steve’s personality, Stephan was able to keep his childish body from spilling any secrets.

Now, James may as well have always been Stephan’s. Sometimes, when Stephan was up late, contemplating his existence as a mortal on earth, he wondered if he did the right thing, allowing Bucky to think that his friend was still with him. The logical part of his brain said that technically, Bucky had known Stephan longer than he’d known Steve, but the more sentimental part of his brain said that Steve had belonged to Bucky, and Stephan had taken him from Bucky and slipped into his skin.

It was a morbid and overbearing sort of thought. Stephan tried not to think about it too much. He made it up to Bucky as best he could, devoting himself to Bucky the way that the original Steve probably would have. Stephan trusted Bucky like he’d never trusted an angel. Bucky was only human, but that only made him that much better. Humans knew loyalty, because they had so little power. Angels, had too much power, and almost no loyalty, to one another, or humans. The only things angels respected were the laws, and Stephan had always felt like an outcast among them. He was an outcast among the humans too, but at least here he had Bucky.

Not that Bucky didn’t have his flaws. For instance, insisting on taking Steve with him on double dates that Stephan had no interest in. Stephan wasn’t even sure that his angel consciousness was capable of forming romantic interests. It didn’t seem possible. No angel that he knew had ever fallen in love (or lust), the way that humans did. Stephan had never fully grasped the motivations of love. The closest Stephan had ever come to love was Bucky, and Steve knew that Bucky loved him too, but it wasn’t love the way that humans are fond of exaggerating it. It wasn’t romantic, namely. Stephan was okay with that. He didn’t think he wanted romantic love, he only ever needed Bucky.

Steve had always appreciated the art of humans, but he found himself drawn to it even more once he became one of them. When once art had simply been beautiful, now Steve _understood_ in a way that could only come from human experience. He began creating his own art, and most of it was dark and scary, representative of all of the awful things he’d let happen when he’d been living the life of an angel. Some pieces were happy though, telling the story of his life now, difficult, perhaps, but riddled with beautiful things, and experiences that angels could never hope to have. Those pieces had hope in them, tinged in every stroke of cheap pencils, and smudge of dirty fingers. There was hope, sometimes, for Steve.

Then the war came, Bucky enlisted. Steve tried, he really did, but they wouldn’t take him. Steve’s body had been riddled with diseases, and even though there was no trace of any real deliberating illness (unless you counted inability to properly store energy as muscle and fat as a deliberating illness) they always turned him down. 4F. Every time.

Stephan had moral problems with the war. He understood that Hitler was basically a glorified bully, but he also understood that not everyone working for the Nazi regime would be an evil bastard. Some of them would just be men following orders with families back home. As with every war, not every man who fought it would be evil. But Steve had to consider the greater good. If the war wasn’t fought then more innocent men could be caught in the regimes of dictators, and Steve couldn’t let that happen.

The idea of possibly having to kill innocents haunted Steve like nothing ever had. Watching people die at the hands of humans was one thing, killing someone by his own hand… that was going to be completely different, and Steve knew it.

Peggy Carter was Stephan’s first crush. He hadn’t expected it, and it wasn’t just because she was classically pretty by human standards. She reminded him of Bucky in some ways. She was strong, and she didn’t take crap from bullies. She was brave, and smart, and Steve liked her. Steve wasn’t sure what part of him had changed to become fond of Peggy the way that he had, and it confused him, and it made him trip over his words, but Steve didn’t hate it. He understood, just a little, why humans cared so much about the notion of romantic love.

Steve was glad when the procedure went well, he was glad that he was going to be able to serve his country. The innocents never left the back of his mind, but always, Stephan thought of the greater good. Maybe not all the people under the regime of a dictator were evil, but they were instruments in an evil plan, and they had to be stopped, at any and all costs. If they chose the side of good after the war was over, if they turned themselves to righteousness, that would be enough for Steve.

Stephan fully adopted the name of Steve Rogers when he became a super soldier. He stopped internally referring to himself as Stephan. There was no longer a difference in his mind, between Steve’s body, and Stephan’s consciousness. This was Stephan’s body, it had been given to him by Erskine, for better or for worse, and it belonged to him now. Steve was what the world called him, and Steve was who he was, body and soul, connected in a way that they never had been before.

When Steve came for Bucky, he felt like he was really meeting him for the first time, and it was wonderful.

When Bucky fell, Steve broke.

Peggy, as amazing as she was, wasn’t enough to replace the Bucky shaped whole in his heart.

He made a date he never intended to keep, and he put the Valkyrie in the water, mostly because it was the right thing to do, but also because a part of him hoped that he’d see Bucky again, once he was dead.

\---

When Steve woke up seventy years later a part of him was devastated. Nothing was the same, and for the third time in his life Steve had to relearn how to live. The first was when he was given a human body, the second when Bucky fell, and this third time, now, in the most fast-paced world he’d ever had the displeasure of knowing, without a single friend.

He didn’t have a Peggy, or a Bucky, this time. He had no one.

Steve isolated himself, because it was all he could do. He used his new body to sweat himself into a fatigue, and he slept dreamlessly. The few times he dreamed he dreamt of Bucky falling, the water rushing up around him, the ice. Steve quickly learned to hate dreams, and did everything that he could to avoid them.

Steve learned, in his third life, why humans enjoyed sex so much. For those brief moments of intimacy he shared with a stranger, he was neither an angel or a man out of time. For a few moments he was just Steve, and everything felt good, and it was like a drug.

Steve learned that the after effects of drugs are never worth the high. For all the pleasure and peace an orgasm brought him, when the pain of his loneliness crushed back in on him it felt twice as heavy as it had before.

Steve stopped having sex.

When Steve became a part of the Avengers a new purpose was given to him. Loki, the king of all bullies, became Steve’s new mission. He had a purpose again.

Steve had actually known about aliens long before he became a human. He hadn’t expected any to show up on earth though, and he certainly hadn’t expected to be able to _do_ anything about it. He wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it if he were still an angel.

A part of Steve wondered what the angels were doing now, with all their useless power. Steve wondered how many angels were allowing their charges to die when they could be doing something.

Steve fought harder.

When the battle against the Chitauri was won, Steve found himself panicking. Tony, who had made the sacrifice play Steve had once accused him of being unable to make, laid dead on the cracked and broken ground, surrounded by rubble and debris. When the Hulk roared and Tony’s reactor began to glow again, Steve had never been so relieved.

When the tower became the official headquarters of The Avengers, and Tony offered them all residences there, Steve took the offer gladly. He hadn’t been Tony’s biggest fan before the battle of New York, but he had more than earned Steve’s respect, and his attention. Tony, for all his flaws, was never really trying to do anything bad.

Steve recognized the signs this time, when he started to develop a crush on Tony. It was like things had been with Peggy, but somehow different. Steve was glad that it was different, he never wanted to replace Peggy, but he was also glad that the warmth was back in his chest, after so long being cold.

Tony, for his part, was an interesting man. He made time to show Steve the 21st century, and Steve enjoyed it. He liked learning, and he liked spending time with Tony. There were some aspects of the twenty-first century he wasn’t as fond of (humans had become startlingly good at mimicking gore) as others (their culinary prowess had improved immensely since the 1940’s).

There was such a large variety of foods to choose from that Steve would’ve been overwhelmed and probably would never have tried any of them if Tony hadn’t been there to narrow the choices. It hadn’t been easy, or affordable, to eat at so many different places when he lived in the forties. Now, with years of army back pay, Steve would afford to eat wherever he wanted, not that Tony allowed Steve to pay that often anyway.

Steve fell harder for Tony the more he learned about him. He took up drawing for the first time since he’d come out of the ice, and he found that his subject was always the same. Steve took to impressionism, something he’d liked in the forties, but hadn’t had the means for. He bought paints, and he did studies of form and color and light, as they appeared around Tony. With quick and deliberate brush strokes Steve created dozens of paintings of Tony in dozens of positions, and every image was precious to Steve in a way that few things were in this modern world.

The first time Tony asked him what he was painting, Steve had flushed. He’d refrained, before, from the symptoms of human affection that he’d displayed around Peggy. He’d been able to talk to Tony freely, and it had warmed his chest, and made him happy. This was the first time that Steve had ever felt the butterflies in his stomach when he was around Tony. It was the first time that Steve had felt lost for words, and choked on what words he could find while he was around Tony. It was horrifying, and Tony tried to soothe him in the only way Tony ever soothed anyone. He acted like it wasn’t a big deal and he moved on like it hadn’t happened.

Steve was grateful to him for that. The canvas was done for, not salvageable, only half done with Tony in a different position. He put it at the base of his easel facing away from Tony, and took out a clean one, waiting and watching for Tony to settle before he started his painting.

Several days later Steve left one of the paintings, the best one in his opinion, in Tony’s pent house. Steve knew that Tony was with Pepper, and he had resigned himself to unrequited love. He wasn’t so desperate for Tony that he couldn’t handle it, and while seeing Tony with Pepper sparked just the smallest bit of jealousy in him, it made him happy to see Tony happy, and that was all that Steve really wanted.

When Tony sought him out in the common room later that evening, painting in hand. Steve was confused.

“What is this?” Tony asked, and Steve blinked at him.

“Impressionism,” Steve said. He hadn’t taken Tony for an art snob, and even if he had been, he’d thought Tony would appreciate the attention. Perhaps he’d read Tony wrong.

“It’s me, though, isn’t it?” He asked, and there was an edge to Tony’s voice that Steve couldn’t name. Without the ability to see into a human’s head it was always impossible to tell what they were really thinking.

“Yes,” Steve told him firmly, still not sure where any of this was going.

“Why?” Tony pleaded, and now Steve could identify it, the edge. That was desperation, and maybe fear. Steve hadn’t meant for him to be afraid. He hadn’t thought that the paintings were creepy. Of course, Steve had always been slow with social cues, not only because he was a man out of time, but because he wasn’t really a man at all.

“You’re a good subject,” Steve tried to be nonchalant, knowing that Tony would find a way to twist anything that Steve said into something negative if Steve didn’t choose his words very carefully.

Tony was silent for a moment, and then he withdrew his defensive posture.

“Thanks,” Tony smiled, looking around the room. “I think I’ll hang it in here.”

“Okay,” Steve said through a tight grin. The picture had been meant for Tony, and Tony alone, a token of sorts, of the love that Steve could never really give him. Tony was with Pepper and Steve respected that, he respect them. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their relationship. He hoped that no one who saw that painting was familiar with art.

“That’s really nice, Steve,” Pepper commented one day as she was coming through the common floor. She was, of course, indicating the painting that Steve had done. It was in shades of soft blue grays and vibrant blues mixed with blacks, a night when Tony had been working late, and the light had only come from the holoscreens, and Tony’s arc reactor. It was Steve’s favorite, because it caught the sadness that Tony seemed to carry, and uplifted it, made it a unique and intrinsic piece of Tony. Steve had done four paintings that night, under the lights of the holo-screens that he’d painted only as blue tinted patches in the darkness. Tony with the soft blue glow of his arc reactor, stood out amongst the image. His face and chest were illuminated by it, his already dark hair becoming darker in the shadow of the beacon.

Steve had had trouble seeing his own work, but he’d managed if only so he could capture Tony just like that, blue and beautiful.

“Thank you, Ms. Potts,” Steve said bashfully. Tony’s girlfriend was commenting on Steve’s token of love to Tony, and Steve was aware that it was weird.

“You must have spent a lot of time getting something like that right,” She smiled, sitting across from him at the table, “And I’ve told you, call me Pepper.”

“Yes, ma’a- Pepper,” Steve smiled and then looked back down at the mug of coffee in front of him. He’d made a fresh pot only a few minutes ago, knowing that JARVIS would alert Tony and that Tony would probably come down to have a cup, or Steve would eventually take one up to him.

“He won’t say it, but he really liked it, Steve.” Pepper said, putting a soft, small hand over his. Steve looked up at her and tried his best to smile, but it came across halfhearted and they both knew it. “And not in the narcistic way that Tony usually likes pictures of himself.” Pepper laughed, and Steve did too, just a little, but not for the reasons that Pepper was laughing. “He really appreciates it.”

Pepper’s eyes were soft, and caring in a way that Steve was glad Tony had. Pepper was good for Tony, that much was obvious, but despite knowing all that, hearing Pepper talk about how Tony felt about his painting, was not comforting. In fact, it almost hurt worse, because Steve knew that Tony shared with Pepper in a way that he’d probably never share with Steve. Steve would never be able to compete with Pepper, who was stable, and a good influence, and human.

Steve thanked her, and tried to look chipper, and Pepper didn’t comment, so either she believed him, or she wasn’t going to continue trying to soothe him. Either way Steve was grateful.

When Pepper got up and took two mugs out of the cabinet, Steve dumped out his mostly full cup and left.

Steve didn’t go back to Tony’s lab for three days after the Pepper incident. On the fourth day JARVIS said that Tony needed him, and Steve went with little reluctance.

“Hey, big guy, we’ve missed you around here.” Tony called to him from one of the screen as he opened the door. “Dummy here has been lost without you.”

“Hello, Dummy,” Steve smiled, patting the arm on the claw. “I’ve missed you too.”

Dummy made a series of beeps and chirps and raised his hand up and down a couple of times, and Steve smiled, assuming it was excitement. Steve had played fetch with Dummy between paintings, and sometimes even during if Dummy was insistent enough. He was a sweet bot.

“So, where’ve you been Cap?” Tony asked, eyes still glued to whatever was on his screens. Steve was hesitant to answer that, because he would inevitably have to say “avoiding you” or something that sounded like it without sounding like it. Steve was terrible at lying to Tony.

“I’ve had some things to do,” Steve says, because it’s not untrue. Steve had had things to do, namely, moping, but he wouldn’t admit to that. He was an angel, not a saint, and a fallen angel besides. He might be trying to let Tony be happy, but that didn’t mean Steve was happy.

Pepper telling Steve that Tony had liked the painting had been the last straw of Steve’s already precarious resolve. He’d been in what humans in his decade (or maybe a few decades previous) called a funk.

“Well, we’re glad to have you back, stand over there, please,” Tony said, pointing to an empty space farther into the lab.

“Okay, Tony.” Steve said obediently. Steve stood there for twenty minutes mostly watching Tony and wondering what he was doing. Steve caught flashes of his suit, the red, white and blue cycling through several configurations and variations. Tony’s eyes were focused on the screen and Steve looked without hindrance, taking in the graceful lines of Tony’s back that Steve had drawn and painted what felt like a hundred times.

Tony looked good, like he always did, and though Steve wanted to deny it he found himself wanting Tony in a way he'd never wanted someone before.

He tries to steer his thought away from the cords of muscle that no doubt lined Tony's back, arms, legs. All of it hard earned through his metal working and combat training. He wasn't as built as Steve, but he wasn't scrawny the way Steve was before the serum. Steve wasn't ashamed to admit that he thought Tony was attractive. What he was ashamed of was that he was attracted to Tony while Tony was in a committed relationship with Ms. Potts, who was a nice woman, when she wasn't being scarily efficient. Even then she was usually quite nice, in an intimidating do-what-I-say-or-I'll-destroy-you kind of way.

Tony deserved Pepper, he deserved a human, and Steve was letting borrowed biology interfere with the end goal, keeping the world safe.

And keeping Tony happy, though that seemed to be the more challenging of the two goals.

"Steve?" Tony asked and Steve pulled himself out of his own head.

"I said you can go, if you're bored." Tony's voice had a sharp edge to it that Steve didn't like. He wished he could just soothe away whatever was hurting Tony, but Steve knew that wasn't how their relationship worked. The only people allowed to soothe Tony the way Steve wanted to just then were Rhodes and Pepper. Steve was generally not even welcome to put hands on Tony, let alone pull him into a hug and just hold him there the way Buck used to do after Steve's mom died.

Steve would if he could have, though.

"I’m not bored," Steve said, his smile not as forced as it would've been with anyone else.

"Well, I have what I need, so you're still free to go," Tony said and Steve smiled when Tony turned back to the holoscreen, because Tony didn't mean for him to leave.

"Actually, I think I'll work in here for a while, if you don't mind." Steve doesn't even wait for a response, just takes up residence on the couch Tony usually sleeps on after inventing binges and picks up a tablet that will let him sign into his server. "I've missed the company."

Steve doesn't look up to see if Tony heard him, or understood him, or maybe smiled. Steve knew he was welcome, and that was enough for him.

"It's sad that the best interaction you have in a day is with a faulty AI claw machine, Steve," Tony mocks him from where Steve can still see Tony working on his suit.

"I really like the blue stealth suit," Steve notes, and the simple navy blue suit with the white star on the chest is brought up by a quick flick of Tony's hand.

"Noted," Tony tells him, never looking away from the screen, and Steve smiles, settling down into the couch. He's home.

They work in silence, Steve practicing his digital drawing and Tony switching between projects at will.

Steve wasn't overly fond of digital art. It wasn’t the same as holding a real pencil, or a paint brush. The stylus felt unnatural in his hand, and somehow Steve felt like he had too much control, like it was too easy to shift colors and pen styles at will. It was strange, but it was a marvel just the same.

Steve had noticed the tablet appear near where Steve usually worked not long after he started making regular visits. When Steve had asked about it Tony had been flippant, like he always was, and brushed it off as not being important. He’d taken some time to show Steve the basics of it, and then told Steve to discover the rest on his own. Steve hadn’t let himself acknowledge the fluttering in his stomach until after Tony had turned his back to him. It was nice, having something that Tony had made for him, even if it was unlikely that Tony had physically made the tablet, it was set up for Steve’s use. Tony’s tablets had complicated applications for Tony’s business and design needs, but the one that Steve used, the one that was waiting in the lab if he ever wanted to use it, only had a few applications, for web browsing, art, photography. There wasn’t anything on the tablet that didn’t have an obvious use to Steve, and he appreciated that. Tony had customized the tablet for him, whether he said it or not.

Things like that were what made Steve so fascinated with Tony. He wasn’t cold, but he acted like it. He acted like nothing bothered him, and the few times that he didn’t, Steve worried. That was when something was really wrong. When Tony couldn’t contain himself, Steve just wanted to wrap Tony up in a hug, places be damned.

That wasn’t how their relationship worked though.

Steve decided to use Dummy as inspiration. Steve had been openly staring at Tony for weeks now, and the genius was bound to notice eventually, so Steve decided to stop pushing his luck, and switch his subjects around a little. If Steve opened a second project centered around Tony, and fiddled with it when Dummy, as cute as he was, just couldn’t hold Steve’s attention, no one need be the wiser.

Thankfully, the image of Dummy was the one he was working on when Tony decided to sit beside him, a gadget of some sort in one hand, and a tool in the other.

“Whatcha’ working on there, Cap?” Tony asked, never even looking up at Steve, and Steve resisted the urge to watch the man. Steve was rarely afforded such close interactions with Tony, and it was making some of the sillier involuntary reactions present themselves. Steve felt the hollow tizzy in his stomach, and his throat and mouth were suddenly very dry.

“J-just a sketch of Dummy,” Steve says, tilting the tablet just slightly, so Tony can see it if he wants to. He hoped that Tony didn’t catch the slight hesitation at the beginning of his sentence.

“I bet he loves that,” Tony grinned, glancing up at Dummy momentarily who twisted and turned and beeped at him. Tony laughed and reached forward to pat his bot on the claw. “Any reason you chose him in particular?” Tony continued, and Steve fished around in his head for an answer. Of course he couldn’t tell Tony that he was avoiding staring at Tony, so he’d picked the first safe subject to come to mind.

“He was just next in line, I guess,” Steve shrugged, trying to act as non-commital as physically possible, but he had trouble lying to Tony, and now was no different.

“Next in line, huh?” Tony fiddled with his project, hands piecing together an outer layer of… whatever it was. “Is there a queue then?”

“Not really,” Steve shrugged, feeling the lie spiraling out of control already. “I just, I figured I should probably find a new subject.” Crap, that was wrong, that could be misinterpreted, “I mean, I figured that you were probably tired of me staring at you- or-“ Steve flushed. He’d outed himself. He didn’t think there would be any saving himself now.

Before Steve could make a bigger fool of himself Tony spoke up, “Did you get tired of me, Steve?” There was just a little bit of an edge to Tony’s voice, and Steve kicked himself internally.

“No,” Steve sighed, because he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of Tony, not even when Tony and Pepper had little Starks running around, and a house in the country where Tony spent most of his time while Steve was still fighting, still living, still loving someone that he’ll never really be able to have, because the person he loved deserved better than an angel pretending to be a human pretending to be a hero. “No, I don’t think I’ll ever be tired of you, Tony.” There was a fondness in Steve’s voice that he just couldn’t hide. It was impossible to think of Tony without fondness, for Steve at least.

“Just tired of drawing me,” Tony pressed, and Steve sighed, looking at Tony. He resisted the urge to run his hand over his cheek, run his fingers through his hair, touch him. It was always harder to resist the urge when Tony was being self-depreciating. Steve just wanted to comfort him in the way that words never could. Tony took words and twisted them in his head, made them worse than they were. Physical touches were harder to misinterpret, not impossible, but significantly harder.

“I just wanted to get out of your hair, is all.”

“Huh,” Tony tilted his head briefly to one side, devoting all of his attention to gadget in his hands. “Well, I didn’t even notice you were in my hair, so…” Tony shrugged, and Steve smiled.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve switched to the other picture, the sketch of Tony bent over his work table, and Tony made a little indignant noise. “Don’t be jealous of your bots, Tony.”

“Jealous? Who’s jealous? Don’t superimpose your beliefs on me, Rogers.”

Steve laughed, “You mean, you didn’t just ask me what I was drawing, and then get offended when I was drawing Dummy instead of you?”

“No, of course not,” Tony said flippantly, and Steve smiled to himself.

“Well, that’s good,” Steve said, working on the lines of Tony’s hands again, “because I wouldn’t want you to feel like I like Dummy more than you.”

“No one could like Dummy more than me. I’m incredibly likable.”

“So is Dummy.” Steve chuckled, reaching forward to give the claw another affectionate pat. Dummy, for his part, whirred and beeped his enthusiasm at all the attention that he was receiving. “And Dummy doesn’t get jealous.”

“Dummy is the most jealous bot that ever lived,” Tony griped, and Dummy bopped him on the knee lightly with his claw, beeping in offense.

“Yeah, sure, Tony.” Steve went back to working on the sketch of Tony, and pretended he didn’t notice that Tony was leaning over a little to get a better look at it. He didn’t even try and hide the sketch, or the smile that tugged at his lips. Steve could feel Tony’s breath on his shoulder, and he tried not to be giddy at the feeling.

Steve couldn’t have Tony, but he could have this, these few precious moments with Tony, these beautiful moments where Tony was close to him, and he could almost pretend that Tony was his.

“I like this one better,” Tony says, his fingers dancing inches from the tablet screen. “It looks more like me.”

“Yes, that’s the difference between realism and impressionism.” Steve laughed. He should’ve known that Tony would prefer something more realistic. Tony thought in numbers and equations and models, not in colors and vague shapes the way that impressionism depicted him.

Steve determined that he’d make something else for Tony, something smaller, more personal, and more realistic. Something that Tony would understand, even if he wouldn’t understand in the way that Steve meant for him to. Tony would know that Steve cared, that Steve paid attention, even if he didn’t understand exactly why, and that would be enough for Steve.

It had been stupid, to assume that Tony would have even an inkling of understanding from the impressionism. It didn’t have detail, and Tony was detail oriented. If Steve spent hours drawing out individual eyelashes, and carefully shading an image, then Tony would understand. Tony spoke his own language, and Steve was only just becoming privy to it.

Steve smiled to himself when Tony rested his chin on Steve’s shoulder and flicked him lightly with his stylus. Tony scoffed but leaned back, getting back up from the couch.

“Well, don’t stare at my ass too long, Steve, it’s been known to turn even the straightest men into full rainbows.” Tony was joking, Steve could hear it in his voice, but Steve flushed anyway, because Tony didn’t really understand how close he was to the truth. Steve had never even thought he might be attracted to men before he met Tony. He hadn’t thought he’d be attracted to anyone until he met Peggy. Tony had made his way onto a very short list of people who had changed his life, and world, his very being. Steve would never be able to escape Tony’s influence, even if he wanted to. He didn’t want to, though. He didn’t want to ever let go of that feeling, that fluttery, slippery, warm feeling he got when he was around Tony, like the world was righting itself and turning itself on end simultaneously. It was amazing, the sort of thing that angels didn’t get to feel. It was the sort of feeling that made being human worth it.

“And who said I was straight to begin with,” Steve teased without thinking and something hit the lab table with an crash that sounded like it broke something important.

Steve’s head snapped up and Tony was standing at a lab table, back turned to Steve and shoulders tense.

“Sorry, I was not expecting that.”

“I know,” Steve smiled, but his smile was a little wary, watching Tony for signs of distress. He didn’t want Tony to be uncomfortable around him, that was the last thing he wanted, but Tony had made the joke first. “You okay, Tony?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just- really wasn’t expecting that.” Tony’s shoulders rolled and then relaxed and his hands went back to the project that had presumably just broken. “Shit.”

Steve wasn’t sure what Tony’s exclamation was for, but he told himself it was because of his broken gadget, and not because he found it weird that Steve didn’t consider himself straight. “It’s okay though, right, Tony?” Steve asked, and he wasn’t sure if he was talking about his gadget, or Steve’s revelation.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Tony replied just as vaguely, and Steve tried to relax against the couch, but it was almost impossible.

“Just out of curiosity,” Tony said, setting the project down and spinning around, “When you say, “who said I was straight to begin with?’ Do you mean that hypothetically, or are you really not straight?”

“I don’t consider myself straight. I did some research, I think I qualify as pan.”

“Sexual?” Tony’s eyes were a little bit wide and manic, and Steve started to worry, because that was extremely out of character for Tony.

“And romantic.”

Tony seemed to compose himself, falling into an easy smile and relaxing against the table. It was fake, somehow, but Steve couldn’t tell why it was fake, he couldn’t see what was underneath the faux smile. All Steve could see was the tiny bit of tension in the tilt of Tony’s shoulders, and the falseness of his smile, not his press smile, but not his genuine one either.

“Well, that’s an interesting revelation.”

Steve wished that he could explain that where Steve came from gender was inconsequential. Steve wished that he could just tell Tony that he would’ve found Tony attractive even if he didn’t have a fantastic physique. Steve wished that he could tell Tony that it was Tony’s intelligence, his mind, his personality, that attracted Steve to him. Steve wished that he could tell Tony he was attracted to him, period, but Tony was with Pepper, and Steve respected that. He had to. Pepper made Tony happy, and Steve wanted Tony to be happy.

He wished it was as easy said as done.

“Because I’m from the forties?”

“Because you ooze heteronormativity.”

“I spent the better part of three weeks painting pictures of you, Tony, what part of that oozes heteronormativity?” Steve questioned, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why he said it. It was a stupid thing to say, to even suggest. Steve was basically asking Tony how Steve could be straight when he has such an obvious crush on Tony, even if he didn’t say it. Steve kicked himself again, but tried to keep his body language relaxed. Tony would never settle himself if Steve was tense.

Steve was always terrible at lying to Tony though.

“The part where that doesn’t at all equate to non-straightness.”

“Tony, you’re the one making assumptions about my sexuality.” Steve countered, and he smiled when Tony’s eyes went wide again.

“You hold the door for women, Steve!”

“I also hold the door for you, and Clint, and pretty much everyone, Tony.” Steve couldn’t help but laugh and Tony’s lips pursed.

“Peggy…”

“Pan is inclusive of women, Tony,” Steve didn’t know what possessed him to get up leaving his tablet on the couch, but he didn’t question it, not until it was too late.

Steve took measured steps towards Tony, watching him swallow hard and look Steve up and down. His tongue darted out between his lips and licked the lower one, then the upper one, parting as he took in a slow breath though his mouth. Steve found himself wanting to put his lips on Tony’s and when he was standing only inches from Tony, forcing the smaller man to look up at him, he considered it. Tony looked so open, just then. He looked like he would give in, kiss Steve, if Steve would only make the first move.

And so he did.

He waited a fraction of a second, just long enough for Tony to pull away if he really wanted to, before he started to lean in, slow, measured, careful. Tony could pull away at any second, and Steve would stop as soon as he saw any indication of it. Tony watched Steve, his intense brown eyes trained on him expectantly, and Steve hated to disappoint.

Steve had only experienced one romantic kiss in his life, and that had been with Peggy, ages ago, before the ice. That kiss had been born in desperation, and it was passionate, as far as Steve could tell. It had been quick, and fierce, and hot like a fire in his lungs, burning in his chest like pure flames. It had been a wonderful kiss, and it was the only point of comparison Steve had, so a part of Steve expected kissing Tony, in a distant way, to feel like kissing Peggy.

Kissing Tony was _nothing_ like kissing Peggy. Kissing Tony was like that first hot swallow of freshly made coffee, with just the right amount of sugar and cream. It was sweet, and smooth, and warm all the way down, heating him up from the inside out and settling in his stomach like liquid comfort. Steve would’ve chuckled to himself if it would have been appropriate. Of course kissing Tony would be like drinking coffee.

When Steve blinked and pulled away from Tony he was dazed, and giddy, and smiling, because he just couldn’t help himself. He’d kissed Tony. He’d wanted to kiss Tony for months, and he’d finally done it. He’d kissed Tony and-

Tony had Pepper.

Shit.

“Shit.” Steve said, scrambling away from Tony, pulling his hands away from Tony’s waist where they had settled themselves. “Shit, Tony, I’m sorry.”

“Wait, why?” Tony asked, looking taken aback. “Did I do some- Steve!”

“I’m sorry, Tony, I shouldn’t have.” Steve rushed for the door, but it wouldn’t open.

“Steve, what’s going on?” Tony’s eyes were wide and confused again, and Steve didn’t know what to do. He’d kissed Tony, he’d betrayed Tony, disregarded his relationship, and screwed himself out of even the idea of a friendship with Tony.

“I shouldn’t have done that. You have Pepper, I’m sorry, Tony, just please-“

“What are you talking about?”

“Tony, tell Jarvis to let me out.”

“No! Not until you explain yourself, Rogers. You don’t get to just kiss me like that and walk away. You can’t just do that to me!”

“I didn’t mean to, Tony. I know you’re with Pepper. I was trying to respect that, but things got out of hand, and I shouldn’t have kissed you. That was-“

“I’m not with Pepper.” Tony said quietly, and Steve cut his own tiraid short.

“Yes you are,” Steve said, turning to face Tony again. “You are, Tony, I know you are.”

“We were together,” Tony nods, “but we broke things off months ago. It wasn’t what either of us really wanted. We were better as friends, always had been. You thought we were together this whole time?”

“Well… yeah.” Steve blinked, taking a few minutes to process it all. It didn’t change much. Steve still had the same feelings for Tony, and Tony probably still didn’t return them. The major difference was that the kiss hadn’t been stepping on Pepper’s toes, which was good, because Pepper could be as scary as Natasha when she wanted to be.

“Oh.” Tony and Steve watched each other for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

The staring just became more awkward as time passed. Steve looked away first, and he could feel Tony’s eyes on him, watching him, gauging him, and Steve felt himself start to squirm in a way he hadn’t since he was a scrawny kid in Brooklyn.

“Can I go now, Tony?” Steve asked, scuffing his shoe along the floor and still refusing to meet Tony’s eyes.

“No,” Tony said sternly, approaching Steve, “No, I don’t think you can.”

Steve looked up at Tony to protest when suddenly Tony was grabbing Steve by the collar of his shirt and dragging him down, tilting his own head up to meet Steve’s and then they were kissing again. A part of Steve wanted to refuse, on principle, but Tony was kissing him. Tony was kissing Steve, and Steve just wanted to fall into it, so he did. Steve opened his mouth for Tony to explore, and Tony did so enthusiastically, tongue doing sinful things that went straight to Steve’ groin. Steve had never experienced arousal himself, but he knew enough about human biology to know that he was _aroused_. Steve kissed Tony back enthusiastically, if somewhat clumsily, letting Tony take the lead, but refusing to be passive. When Tony bit Steve’s lip Steve groaned, his hands finding purchase at Tony’s hips and pulling him closer, flush against him, and Steve loved the way that Tony just seemed to fit against him. This kiss was like drinking coffee that was just a little bit too hot, it still felt good, but it burned oh so satisfyingly on the way down, and it only left Steve craving more.

“Still want to leave?” Tony asked when they pulled away for breath, or more accurately, so Tony could take a breath.

“No,” Steve smiled, not sure what Tony’s intentions were, but willing to have Tony anyway he could, “I don’t think I do.”

“Good,” Tony smiled, reaching up to peck Steve on the lips. “Because I like you right here.”

Steve liked being right there too, with Tony’s body warm in his arms and Tony’s kiss still lingering on his lips. Standing there with Tony was better than Heaven had ever been, even before he’d grown disillusioned with it, and Steve was more glad than ever that he didn’t belong there. Steve couldn’t imagine a better place to belong than in the arms of Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, philanthropist, completely flawed, but entirely perfect. Steve had only ever held two other people in the same respect that he held Tony Stark, and if he could help it, Steve would never let go.

**Author's Note:**

> On this Universe: Everyone has a Guardian Angel, and every Guardian Angel has several humans that they manage at a time. Stephan doesn't have one, because he's not human, technically. Steve Rogers, the original, was going to die, so he went to Heaven, and they gave Stephan (The angel) his body, so effectively, this angel is Steve Rogers. Why didn't the angels make Stephan a new body and just heal Steve Rogers? Probably the same reason they kicked Stephan out of heaven for helping people, it goes against their angel codes, which suck.  
> When Stephan says that the angels "came west" he's referring to the spread of Christianity to the west through colonizers and missionaries and blah. I didn't touch on it, but Steve feels negatively about the forced conversion of native peoples. In this universe creatures like angels exist because people will them into existence. Because people believed in angels, they existed, and when Christianity spread, so did the angels. Angels come into existence based on how many humans need them, but they don't blink out of existence, so sometimes, like during the Black Death, there were surpluses of angels. Angel Laws Prohibit them from interacting directly with humans in any way, shape or form. Angels are only allowed to give really vague, conscience-like guidance, and most humans don't even really understand how to interpret it, so angels mostly go ignored. Steve got kicked out because he pressed his will on one of his chargers and basically made them beat the crap out of someone who was trying to beat them up. This is the biggest no-nos ever in angel world, so he got cast out. Technically Steve is a fallen angel, which I think is really adorable.  
> A/N: I don't usually write Steve-centric things, but I actually really liked the way this turned out. I'm sorry to any hardcore Steve fans if this seems really out of character, I tried my best. Also, the tenses are sort of switching between past and present sporadically. I tried to fix most of it, but there might still be places where it's wrong, and I'm sorry about that. Let me know if you like it or have any notes. ^_^  
> 


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